To The Moon
by sbyamibakura
Summary: Baron Corbin/Adrian Neville, set Pre AND Post-Roadblock: End of the Line. Part Six of Unmei. It felt like those words were for *him*.


To The Moon

By: PhoenixJustice

Disclaimer: The wrestlers own themselves; the gimmicks are owned by WWE.

Warning: Rated T for language, slash, etc.

Pairing: Baron Corbin/Adrian Neville.

Setting: Pre _and_ Post-Roadblock 2016.

Post-Roadblock.

Summary: It felt like those words were for _him_.

Part Six of _Unmei_.

A/N: This idea kept hitting me in the head after Neville came back during Roadblock.

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When he sees him for the first time, a chance glance across the locker room on his first day, it's a punch to his gut.

When they wrestle each other the first time for the number one contendership in NXT, it is electricity running through his veins.

And he hates every moment of it.

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When he sees him for the first time, feeling eyes on him, he turns to see the newcomer look at him and it's the strangest feeling that hits him then. Like a punch to his gut, taking his breath away. And he doesn't understand why. Sure, the man was handsome (he'd be a liar if he denied it) but there were _plenty_ of good looking blokes out there and he didn't get that little punch that he does now.

When they wrestle each other for the first time, during the number one contendership match, that strange feeling hits him again and he cannot understand it. He cannot understand it, but it is immensely enjoyable, the feeling. Already it threatened to overtake the feeling he got when wrestling his favorites or a really good wrestler (or both.)

He likes the feelings it brings out (even when Corbin isn't exactly the nicest person in the world.)

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Time and distance is something that helps with the (unwanted feelings.) When _he_ leaves to go to the main roster, he feels more relief than he can remember feeling in a very long time. He can _concentrate_ properly again, can dominate his opponents, make a statement on why he deserved to be in the title picture, why he deserved that and so much more.

Relief, mixed liberally with the unwanted feeling of _longing_.

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When he is called to the main roster he feels a mixture of both joy (he was the kind of wrestler, prior to Triple-H's growing influence, that would never have gotten a shot anywhere _near_ WWE's doors) and trepidation. That he expects; anyone, no matter how excited, would be of course a bit nervous. It was WWE. It was _the_ wrestling promotion. Nerves were an understatement.

He was confused.

Not about the joy or the hesitation, but about the feeling that accompanies them. He feels _pain_. The further away he gets, the more pain he feels. Sure, he knew he'd feel some sadness at leaving (NXT had been a huge part of his life and the friendships he had made there, the matches he had been lucky enough to be apart of, to see NXT grow into what it had grown into, was everything to him), but to feel like he's getting torn apart from the inside?

He feels the desire to go back and has to dig his nails into his leg to keep from asking them to turn around and go back.

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When he gets called up to the main roster, finally, it's not without a mixture of happiness and unsurety. He has to steel himself up even more than he normally does in every day life when he gets to Raw. He almost thinks, as he is at the arena, that things might be clear. But he feels the change immediately, his back stiffening and he just _knows_ what is near him, _who_ is near him.

"I'm telling you, Nev, he woke up with a penis drawn on his forehead! It was the greatest!"

He stiffens.

"No way." _His_ voice says as he talks with Dolph Ziggler. "He'd have had your head for brekkie!"

"Well, yeah." Ziggler says. "If he thought it was me."

"You didn't!"

Ziggler laughs. "To this day, don't _ever_ put Show and Santino in the same car."

"Poor Santino." _He_ says, though he obviously sounds amused.

They walk off without him having ever turned to look at them. His hand clenches into a fist, his nails digging into his palm so he doesn't turn the nearest wall to mush with his bare hands.

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It's strange. He's listening to Dolph's story with no problem before getting weirdly distracted; luckily Dolph is so into telling his tale, gesturing wildly with his hands as he talks, that he doesn't notice his being distracted.

They turn a corner and he stops. Huh. Baron Corbin was at Raw now. That was interesting. He'd be another fierce competitor for him to have to deal with. And yet...and yet... he feels happy.

Actually he probably feels _much_ happier than he should. It wasn't like he lacked any good competion. There had been competition aplenty when he got to the main roster. So then why...?

It's almost like he feels something _click_ into place. It was strange. And yet it didn't feel bad...?

He finishes talking with Dolph and they walk off, with him unable to help but turn his eyes back, watching the quiet figure of the Lone Wolf. He swallows against a sudden lump of emotion in his throat, hurrying off, doing his best to concentrate on his friend, to laugh at his jokes.

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" _This is on you!"_

It is all too easy to destroy Dolph Ziggler, to blame it on the referee and his decision, then to _actually_ admit why he hurt him.

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" _This is on you!"_

He feels a frisson at the words, feels them like knives being stabbed into him. For all that he is backstage, watching on a tiny little monitor in a locker room, it almost feels like it was...but no, that was crazy.

It felt like those words were for _him_.

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He manages to avoid him thereafter and he starts to feel more like himself again (and if he enjoyed beating up Dolph Ziggler a bit more than anyone else? Well that was just natural; Ziggler had a face that just _made_ you want to smack it.) It was going great. He was gaining momentum and it'd only be a matter of time until he'd have the US Title and then work his way to the WWE Title. He deserved nothing less. And then-

And then _he_ gets hurt and his world shatters in front of his eyes.

The phantom pain he feels in his own ankle is nothing, an afterthought, to the _true_ pain that runs through him and he is on his feet, running through the back of the arena before he even realizes what he's doing. It's only when he gets to the trainer room, filled with a plethora of trainers and EMT's (and _him_ ) that he stops. And stares.

 _His_ eyes look at him in shock, looking directly at him. And, as he did from the first time he seen him in NXT and every day thereafter, he feels that punch to his body that leaves him breathless. And this time, his emotions are too strong, the _situation_ too strong, to keep him away.

"Leave." He growls. The paramedics and trainers stare at him. He can feel his mouth turning into a snarl, his carefully held back control starting to slip and it's only the almost _pleading_ look from _him_ that keeps him from physically _throwing_ them all out." _Now._ "

"It's okay." _He_ says softly and he's not sure if he's saying it for him or for the other men in the room. "We're just going to talk."

"O-Okay." A paramedic says. "We need to get a car ready anyhow. Come on guys..."

They all leave quickly, eyes downturned as if afraid of looking at Baron directly. The thought would have brought a smirk to his face if he wasn't feeling so goddamn _worried_. And more than that; _angry_. The anger is so great that he keeps him from talking, to keep from saying anything he might regret later. And inwardly curses himself for letting himself feel enough that he was worried for _him_.

"I'm sorry." _He_ whispers.

And just like that, the dam breaks. He strides over to him and grabs his chin.

"You fucking _fool_." He hisses. "How could you let yourself get hurt? Why wouldn't you be more careful?"

He kisses him harshly and he starts to feel that sense of _completeness_ fill him...

He pushes away and _he_ looks at Baron, stunned.

He flees.

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Werewolves were not monogamous. It just wasn't in their nature. He knew a world, from his first memories, of multiple parents. He had many fathers and many mothers, as all werewolf children were considered child of the parents of the pack, regardless if the child and parent were related by blood (often times it was impossible to tell a child's blood parentage, until a child gained their own Scent and Blood Family could be scented on it.)

For the first years of his life, he was happy. Accepted. Apart of the Pack. Until he reaches puberty and turns away the offers from all other werewolves. His parents are fine with it, at first. He is still young after all, they say (when they think he isn't listening), he'll find those whom he wants to make Pack with soon enough.

But he never does. He never feels the urges his brothers and sisters feel upon their own puberty. He sees them take their Mates and feels happy for them, but he can't understand it. He doesn't want it. What he _wants_ , however, is still something he cannot define. All he knows is that the thought of _many_ do not appeal to him.

When he finally gets the courage to tell his parents this, they reward his honesty with exile. It doesn't take long for the story of the lone wolf to make the rounds with other packs and it hardens his resolve, his feelings, his thoughts. He becomes the Lone Wolf and he promises to himself to never accept _anybody_ , one or many.

It's something he manages to hold onto, that thought, until he gets to FCW, which changes to NXT soon enough and he runs into Bray Wyatt.

"You look lost, friend."

"I'm not your _friend_ ," he bites immediately. The strangeness of Bray Wyatt didn't bother him, nor did any power he had; as a werewolf, Baron was used to magic around in his life (and also had strong resistance against it.)

Wyatt doesn't look discouraged, however. If anything, he looks almost _pleased_.

"Meant no harm." Wyatt says, hands raised. "Nor any disrespect. I respect the Wolfman, whether those who are _supposed_ to be Family do or not."

He stills.

"That doesn't matter." He says stiffly. "It hasn't for a long time."

"Hmm." Wyatt says, hand to his chin in obvious thought. "I suppose not, overall. But it's still there, lingering in the back of your mind, friend. You can't get past how they denied you, how they scorned and mocked you for what you feel."

His hackles rise up. He hated anyone getting close to him (had felt that way since his exile. It was much easier to be hated, so you could be left alone.)

"And how do I _feel_ , Wyatt?" He asks, sarcastically.

But again Wyatt doesn't rise to the bait. He looks as serious as he can ever remember him being.

"Like you're waiting for something. For some _one_. It's why you could never fit in with the idea of a Pack, could you, Wolfman? You just _knew_ , subconsciously, that there was someone out there, just for you. That you were there just for them."

"What the hell do you know?" He whispers in a hunted voice.

Wyatt smiles, but it's tinged with sadness. "Oh I know much more than you'd think, friend. Much more. I know what it is to have someone you belong to. To want them to belong to _you_. There are many words for it, but you know the easiest one to call it; soulmates."

"Like I believe you." He scoffs. But inwardly he feels the ring of truth to it. Wyatt's blood doesn't race as he tells Baron these things. And while this wasn't a _perfect_ way to detect truth from someone, it was a close thing.

"He's there for you, Wolfman; you'll know the minute you see him. Maybe even before then. When your eyes connect, you'll know that it's him you've been waiting all your life for."

It isn't until Wyatt starts to leave, nearly around the corner when he speaks again.

"Wait, how do you know it's a _he?"_ He asks, unable to help himself.

Wyatt's smile turns mischievous. "Maybe someday we'll speak more secrets to one another, Wolfman."

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He somehow manages to keep from giving into his ever increasing urge to see him after his return. Instead he does his best to focus on what's in front of him, ahead of him. To get back into a better position on the card; he'd prove all the naysayers wrong.

When _he_ disappears in October, he worries, _hates_ himself for worrying...and worries some more.

Was he injured again? Was it more serious this time and no one was aware of it (or allowed to know?) But...no, that couldn't be. He'd _know_. He'd _hate_ the fact that he'd know, but he'd still know. It wasn't that. But if it wasn't that...what could it be? Except...maybe. It could be...

He had felt a strong sense of resentment for awhile now, but he had been so used to feeling that way himself for many reasons that he didn't think he was _also_ feeling _his_ feelings of resentment. _He_ was feeling angry; at the company for their mishandling of him, at the crowd and not giving the kind of reactions he deserved, at _himself_ , and even at Baron (' _Why won't you see me again? Coward!')_

When it's December and there is _still_ no sign of _him_.

He doesn't want to worry, but he does. Doesn't want to care...but he does. And he's tired. Tired of holding onto the facade of never caring about anything (truth be told, he cared _too_ much. Always had.) He's tired of being alone. He had been the Lone Wolf for longer than he ever cared to remember.

He... His eyes close. He _wanted_.

And that thought feels like it's the catalyst and he feels a rush of _completeness_ fill him and he gasps at the feeling. There had been times, whether just because he wanted to deny it to himself or not, that he had felt Wyatt had been full of shit. That soulmates were a load of bullshit (despite the fact that things like him, werewolves, existed) but that was wrong. He was wrong. It was true.

The feeling is almost painful in its intensity, but he welcomes it. He feels a feeling of _home_ that he hadn't felt in years. No...it feels like the home he had never had but always _should_ have had. What home _really_ was. He feels joy and sadness and every other emotion inbetween.

He feels love, but well...he had felt that from even before he had first locked eyes with him, years ago in a locker room. He jerks his head as he hears a sudden knock at his locker room door.

He's up and opening the door before a second knock can happen, all but wrenching it open in his haste.

 _He_ looks at him, fuller in beard, eyes both lighter and darker in their emotions and he finds himself with an armful of the Man that Gravity Forgot before he can even react. He looks down at him, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat.

"Adrian." He rumbles softly.

Adrian's eyes widen and the smile on his face nearly brings him to his knees.

"Baron."

Adrian reaches a hand forward, touching his face and his eyes close against the touch. This, _this_ , was what he had been missing for the sum of his life. What his mind, body, and yes, soul, had been crying out for since the moment he had been born.

"I'm home."

His eyes pop open and Adrian's smile widens. He feels his hand tremble as he touches Adrian's hand. He swallows.

"Welcome home."

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A/N: Ahh! Young heels in love! I hope you two are happy! ::glares at Baron and Neville::

I stayed up waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay later/early than I intended to writing and finishing this! :P

I hope you enjoyed this!

Let me know what you thought!

-PhoenixJustice


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